


the right balance

by kiyala



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Beards, Exes, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-19
Updated: 2014-01-19
Packaged: 2018-01-09 06:47:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1142794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiyala/pseuds/kiyala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been four months since Enjolras broke up with Grantaire for the sake of focusing on his cause. Then he needs Grantaire's help for a rally.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the right balance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sarahyyy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarahyyy/gifts).



> Happy birthday [sarahyyy](archiveofourown.org/users/sarahyyy)!!! ♥

"Grantaire," Enjolras says, his voice soft in the crowded room, and everyone falls silent at once.

With a twist of his lips, Grantaire puts his bottle down on the table. None of his friends are particularly subtle—even Combeferre has stopped speaking mid-sentence and is staring at Enjolras openly—and he can't quite blame them. It's been four entire months since Enjolras has directly addressed him. It takes him a moment to calm his racing heart and school his features into a lazy smirk.

"Enjolras."

Glancing around the room, Enjolras presses his lips together into a thin line and walks over to where Grantaire is sitting. "A word, please?"

"Am I in trouble?" Grantaire asks, not getting up. He takes another sip out of his bottle. "That usually means I'm in trouble. I think I'll stay right here."

With a quiet, exasperated sigh, Enjolras shakes his head. "You're not in trouble. This is about the rally next week."

Everyone else in the room, who had slowly been resuming their own conversations, fall silent once again. They all know just how much of a sore topic rallies are between them. Enjolras should know.

"I think I'll stay right here," Grantaire repeats, louder and firmer this time.

"Grantaire," Enjolras says, wrapping his fingers around Grantaire's wrist for a brief moment before pulling away. "Please."

With a heavy sigh, Grantaire gets to his feet. He nods to Bossuet and Joly, who he'd been sitting with, both of whom are carefully not looking at Enjolras. "Of course. Lead the way."

They only go as far as the landing of the stairs, far enough away from the others that they can't overhear. There's no one else anywhere near the upper level of the Musain, so they're afforded a little privacy. Grantaire folds his arms across his chest, waiting, and wishes that he'd thought to bring his bottle with him. He wishes he couldn't still feel Enjolras' fingers on his wrist, like a brand.

"So," Enjolras begins, taking a deep breath. "Feuilly's sick."

Grantaire snorts quietly. "I know that. He's my friend too, in case that's escaped your attention. He's been in bed with the flu."

"Right." Enjolras looks away from Grantaire as he continues speaking. "My point is, he's sick and he was meant to do the posters for the upcoming rally next weekend. I'm not going to make him work on them when he should be in bed, but he's refusing to let the rally go without getting our signs up, because, well, we _need_ those signs and—"

"And you want me to do them," Grantaire finishes flatly. "For your rally."

"For Feuilly. He's sick and as his friend—"

"Spare me, Enjolras," Grantaire cuts him off. He needs a drink. He needs a cigarette. Preferably both, far away from here. "It's enough that you didn't want me enough to keep me. I know you're being gracious enough to let me orbit your little activist group like a good satellite, but— _fuck_ , Enjolras, you broke up with me, okay? You decided I was taking up too much of your time, when it could be better spent preparing for these pointless rallies and now you want me to _help you_ —"

"Grantaire," Enjolras says softly, and Grantaire hates himself for the cracks in his voices, the chips in his carefully-constructed armour, the fact that it's been _four fucking months_ and it hurts as much now as it did then.

"No." It's not often that Grantaire says it to Enjolras. It's not often that he can.

"Please, Grantaire. What can I do in exchange?"

Grantaire snorts, shaking his head. "I don't want you to do anything for me, Enjolras. I'm just as likely to paint your signs as you are to sleep with me again."

With that, Grantaire turns to descend the rest of the staircase. There's no point in going back upstairs when he knows that he isn't going to be able to pretend that everything's fine and there's only so long he can put up with the pitying looks from everyone else.

"Alright," Enjolras replies, and Grantaire pauses, looking over his shoulder.

"What?"

Squaring his shoulders, Enjolras gives Grantaire a determined look. "I accept. You paint those signs, and I'll sleep with you."

"Jesus fucking christ." Grantaire shakes his head, staying right where he is instead of moving closer to Enjolras. "You're not going to do that, you idiot. You're not _paying me with sex_ , I'm not actually asking you to do that."

"Grantaire—"

"Stop," Grantaire tells him, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Stop talking. I'm going to leave now, and you're going to let me, okay? Okay."

He shoves his hands into the pockets of his hoodie and descends the rest of the stairs, walking right out of the Musain and through the dark streets, heading straight home. He's most of the way there when his phone buzzes with a message from Joly.

_You okay?_

He sighs loudly, tapping out a reply with his thumb, _No. Fuck Enjolras._

_Do you wanna talk about it?_

_No, but I do plan on drinking about it,_ Grantaire replies.

 _We'll be there asap_ , Joly tells him, and Grantaire knows that by we, he means himself and Bossuet. _We'll grab a six pack on our way_.

Grantaire spares a moment to feel incredibly grateful for having such good friends, and replies, _Grab two._

«·»

It's been four days, and Enjolras hasn't seen or heard from Grantaire even once. It isn't his place to worry about it and he does all he can to keep it to himself, but he knows that it isn't really working. He doesn't see Grantaire at the Musain and though he rarely accompanies his friends to the Corinthe when they go out drinking, he goes this time only to be disappointed when Grantaire doesn't show up there either.

Judging from the fact that Joly, Bossuet and some of the others don't look particularly concerned about Grantaire's absence, he assumes that Grantaire is fine, but having to infer it from their friends is completely different to knowing for himself and he hates this, he hates the fact that he's lost Grantaire and it's his own fault, and he doesn't know how to fix it.

All of his friends may notice the fact that he's waiting for Grantaire to return to the group, but Combeferre and Courfeyrac are the only ones who actually talk to him about it.

It's Combeferre who broaches the subject first, on their way home from the Corinthe. He and Courfeyrac are walking hand in hand and Enjolras is trying not to look, because it's making him feel lonely, and that doesn't even make any _sense_.

"Can I ask what you said to Grantaire, at the very least?" Combeferre already knows that Enjolras had asked Grantaire to do the posters for the rally, but Enjolras hadn't volunteered anything else and he doesn't now.

"It was incredibly stupid of me. I'm certain that I've just made everything even worse, and who even knew that things _could_ get any worse than they already were?" Enjolras laughs bitterly, shaking his head. "I don't even know why I'm surprised. I always have a good idea of what I'm doing, but when it comes to Grantaire…"

Combeferre places a hand on Enjolras' shoulder and squeezes gently. Enjolras sighs heavily, giving his friend a grateful smile.

"I brought this on myself, right?"

"Just give him some time," Courfeyrac says with a smile. "Whatever you said, I think Grantaire just needs a bit of time to himself before he joins the group again. Besides, most of our meetings lately have been about the upcoming rally anyway. Maybe he'll be back once it's over."

"Maybe," Enjolras repeats, trying not to think about what he'll do if Grantaire _isn't_ back then. He rubs his hand over his face. "We need to do something about those signs. Feuilly's still sick, and the text-only fliers that we've put up around campus are nowhere near as eye-catching. If we're going to get a banner for the rally, it needs to be sent to the printers in two days' time. I don't know anyone else who would put a banner together for us in that time."

"We'll work out what to do tomorrow," Combeferre says gently. "There's no point in stressing yourself out about it now."

"I guess." Enjolras nods at his friends as they go their separate ways. He's taking his jacket off once he gets home when his phone starts ringing. It's just past twelve-thirty on a Saturday night and Enjolras frowns as he pulls his phone out of his pocket. His stomach does a strange flip when he sees Grantaire's name on the screen, and he answers without a second thought.

"Grantaire?"

"Hey." Grantaire's voice is so quiet that Enjolras can barely hear it. There's a long pause, and then Grantaire sighs heavily. "I did it."

"Did… what?" Enjolras asks, frowning.

"The stuff for the rally." Grantaire sounds unhappy, and Enjolras can hear a squeak in the background, which he recognises as Grantaire's stubborn lounge room window. He only ever pushes it up when he's smoking inside. "I spoke to Joly and Bossuet, and then I asked Combeferre what you guys needed. Fliers for beforehand, pamphlets to hand out, posters for the day, and a banner, right?"

"You asked Combeferre?" Enjolras asks.

"I didn't want to talk to you," Grantaire replies. "I asked Combeferre not to tell you."

Enjolras huffs quietly. "That explains why Combeferre was so relaxed about not having an artist. We had you."

Grantaire doesn't reply, and Enjolras swears under his breath.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean—I don't—"

"I know," Grantaire says softly, and Enjolras wants to scream that he _doesn't_ , he has no idea how far out of his depth he feels when he's dealing with Grantaire. He stays silent and Grantaire clears his throat. "Do you want to come over and see? I mean, I know it's kind of late, but—"

"No, no, I'll be there soon." Enjolras is already pulling his jacket back on. "Give me ten minutes. Thank you, Grantaire. I mean it."

"Yeah." Grantaire exhales loudly, and Enjolras can picture him leaning against the windowsill, cigarette between his fingers. The mental image doesn't quite leave, and Enjolras isn't sure that he wants it gone anyway. "I'll see you soon."

«·»

Grantaire has smoked his way through his cigarette and is considering another when he hears the knock on his door. His hands are trembling and it's ridiculous, this is completely ridiculous and he can't stop them so he balls them into fists, putting one in his pocket as he uses the other to open the door.

He'd like to say that he doesn't even know how long it's been since he's seen Enjolras standing in his doorway, but that's a lie. It's been four months, one week and three days since Enjolras had last been here, just two days before he'd decided he didn't have time for this any more. Grantaire tries not to dwell on it but that feels a little like trying not to breathe, and he's tried that before, too.

Enjolras stares at him, eyes wide and lips parted, and Grantaire immediately feels self-conscious. He rubs his chin before realising that it's the beard. He hasn't shaved for days and his stubble has grown into a short beard. He doesn't know what to do with the fact that the look in Enjolras' eyes means that he likes what he sees, so he clears his throat, pulling the door open a little wider and turning away. "Come in."

His laptop is sitting on the coffee table and Enjolras sits in front of it without needing to be told. Grantaire is one step behind, wishing that he didn't like the ease and familiarity with which Enjolras moves through his space.

"I got all the information I needed off Combeferre," Grantaire tells Enjolras, opening the files that he's been working on. "I can change things if you need me to but otherwise, I'll just email them to your account so you can get everything printed."

"It's perfect, Grantaire." Enjolras' voice is hushed with awe. "This is exactly what I wanted. Thank you."

"You don't need me to change anything?" Grantaire asks, as Enjolras goes through all the information, double-checking it against the notes on his phone. He doesn't know why he feels so nervous about this, when it wasn't even that difficult to put together. It isn't an illustration or anything that has personal meaning. It doesn't mean anything at all to _him_ , just to Enjolras, and that, Grantaire supposes, is the whole reason that it matters so much.

"Not at all." Enjolras smiles. Grantaire emails the files to Enjolras and pushes his laptop screen shut. "Thank you, Grantaire. I appreciate the fact that you did this for our rally—"

"I didn't do it for your rally," Grantaire tells him quietly.

"For Feuilly, then."

Grantaire snorts softly. "Didn't do it for him, either."

"Then…" Enjolras frowns in confusion.

"I did it because you asked," Grantaire says, getting to his feet just so he can get some distance between them. "Because that's what I do. You want me to make you a poster? I'll do it. You want me to stop being your boyfriend after half a year so you can focus more of your attention on making sure that your rallies go smoothly and you have more time to campaign for all the change we're not going to get? Yeah, okay, sure. I'll do that too. But I'm not going to just… I can't—I can't _stop feeling_ , okay? Because I know you've still got your revolution and everything, but you left, and all I had was—"

He doesn't finish the sentence, because Enjolras crosses the room and pulls Grantaire into a kiss. Their arms wrap around each other and the sound Grantaire makes into Enjolras' mouth is a little broken, but then Enjolras' tongue is sliding against his and nothing else matters.

Their kisses are hard, desperate, and Grantaire means to pull away and ask Enjolras what they're doing, but then he sees how pink Enjolras' skin has gone from his beard.

"Fuck," he whispers, half apologetic, half in appreciation, rubbing his thumb along the line of Enjolras' jaw. "Sorry."

"Don't be," Enjolras says, breathless. "I—"

"You like it," Grantaire realises and this is a bad idea. He _knows_ it's a bad idea, but he nuzzles against Enjolras anyway, just for the way he gasps sharply.

"I do." Enjolras sucks in a shaky breath when Grantaire nuzzles against him again. "Fuck, Grantaire, I want it between my thighs."

Grantaire pauses this time, and Enjolras' eyes go wide. Grantaire sighs, pulling away. "What are we doing, Enjolras? I already told you, I'm not making you sleep with me—"

"I'm not doing this because I _have to_ ," Enjolras interrupts. "I'm doing it because we both want to, and if you want to stop…"

"Bed," Grantaire growls out, and Enjolras doesn't need to be told again.

They pull each other to Grantaire's bedroom, shedding clothes as they go, until they're both naked and Enjolras is on his back, arching as Grantaire leans over him with one knee against the edge of his bed, kissing his way down to Enjolras' cock. Enjolras brings his knees up to hold Grantaire in place and he chuckles under his breath, turning his head to suck marks onto the insides of his thighs, his beard scratching over the sensitive skin and turning it pink.

"Grantaire," Enjolras gasps, when Grantaire swallows his cock down. He's always loved blowjobs, and Grantaire knows that he's good at them, mostly from practice. "Oh, fuck, no I don't want to come so quickly, please—"

Pulling off Enjolras' cock with a loud, wet sound, Grantaire licks his lips and moves further up the bed, kissing Enjolras' neck. "What do you want? Do you want to fuck me, Enjolras? Because I still have all our condoms just sitting there and not being used and I'm so fucking sick of pretending that my fingers are yours—"

"Get the lube," Enjolras tells him, his voice husky, and it feels like nothing has changed, like the past four months never even happened, and Grantaire scrambles to get the bottle out of his bedside drawer, squirting the lube into Enjolras' palm and spreading his legs, waiting.

Enjolras is gentle. He's slower, more careful than Grantaire is with himself, and it feels so _right_. Grantaire needs Enjolras to fuck him, he isn't ashamed to beg if he has to, and he must be babbling something to that effect because Enjolras moans loudly, curling his fingers in Grantaire and making him jerk with a loud yelp.

"Please, please," Grantaire pants, and Enjolras rolls a condom on, slicks himself up, and Grantaire is going to hate himself for this later, he knows it already, but it feels too good to care right now and he's never been one for thinking ahead.

The first cautious roll of Enjolras' hips has Grantaire moaning, wrapping his arms around Enjolras and trying to pull him closer, deeper. Enjolras kisses him, and his thrusts start off slow but that doesn't last for very long. They both need this, they've missed this, and it shows in the way they hold onto each other, the way their thrusts pick up pace until the bed is squeaking beneath them, their kisses a mess of tongues and teeth.

Grantaire comes first, clenching down on Enjolras and drawing a loud, wordless moan from him as he follows close behind. They stay in each other's arms, panting as their hearts race, and Enjolras is talking under his breath without stopping, like his mental filter is gone and Grantaire tries to stop panting, tries to listen.

"Fuck, Grantaire, how did I walk away, _why_ , I missed this, I miss you—"

Grantaire kisses him and even once they pull apart so that Enjolras can throw his condom out and Grantaire can grab a towel to wipe up with, they settle back down into bed in each other's arms. Enjolras rolls onto his side, burying his fingers in Grantaire's hair as they kiss again.

"Stay the night?" Grantaire murmurs, because he's missed this, missed being in Enjolras' arms, most. He doesn't think he can deal with Enjolras leaving right now. He'll deal with it tomorrow.

"Of course." Enjolras rests their foreheads against each other with a smile and their legs are tangled together and for the first time in four months, Grantaire's bed doesn't feel empty.

«·»

Enjolras wakes up to find that Grantaire is already awake, and that's a bad sign as it is. He knows that Grantaire prefers staying in bed for as long as possible. Back when they were together, Grantaire would stay in bed until Enjolras dragged him out of it. He sits up in bed, his heart sinking when he sees that Grantaire's gathered his clothes up from where they'd been dropped on the floor last night, and folded them up neatly, leaving them on the edge of the bed.

He isn't quite sure what he'd been expecting last night, but this is the last thing that he wants. He gets dressed quickly, walking out to the lounge room, where Grantaire's sitting at his laptop and a mug of coffee.

"Hey." Grantaire greets him quietly, and there's no second mug, absolutely nothing in his expression that says he's expecting Enjolras to stay. "Um, so that was stupid of us. How about we just don't talk about it, and everything continues on as normal?"

"Normal," Enjolras repeats. "You mean how we can barely manage proper conversations any more, barely look at each other—"

"—Barely have time for each other because there are more important things to be focusing your attention on," Grantaire adds. "Yeah, that."

"Grantaire…"

"Don't make this any more difficult than it already is," Grantaire says quietly. "Please."

Enjolras wants to argue, he wants to make a big deal out of this, but he knows that Grantaire won't respond well, so he simply nods instead. "Thank you for the posters."

Grantaire lifts his mug in acknowledgement and Enjolras leaves, walking home in yesterday's clothes.

The first thing he does when he gets to his apartment is open up his email, sending the files over to the print shop that they usually get everything from. The second thing he does is call Combeferre.

"Enjolras?" Combeferre sounds tired when he answers. "What time is it? Is everything okay?"

"I don't know and… I don't know," Enjolras sighs heavily, checking the time on his laptop. "Fuck, it's only eight o'clock. I'm sorry."

"What's wrong?"

Enjolras is silent for a moment as he tries to figure out the best way to put it into words. He takes a deep breath and settles on, "I slept with Grantaire last night."

" _What_?" Combeferre asks loudly and then swears under his breath. Enjolras can hear the rustling of sheets as Combeferre gets out of bed where, presumably, Courfeyrac is still asleep. Quieter this time, he says, "What?"

"I can't do this, Combeferre. I want him and I know that he wants me. I can't just stop with the group and with the rallies, but I need to do something because I can't just let him go again. I can't."

Combeferre hums quietly as he thinks, and clears his throat. "You're the leader of the group, Enjolras. That doesn't mean you have to do everything on your own. Delegate. I'm pretty sure that nobody in the group is going to mind picking up a few extra tasks here and there if it means that you're happy. Especially if it means that Grantaire will be happy, too."

"Do you think that would work?"

"Try it," Combeferre tells him. "If you want this to work with Grantaire, you're going to have to make compromises. You'll work it out."

"And then after the rally's over, I can tell Grantaire—"

"Why wait until the rally's over?" Combeferre asks. "That's _days_ from now. Talk to him now, Enjolras. Go."

"Right. Right, okay. Thank you."

Enjolras stays at his apartment long enough to shower and change his clothes, and then walks back to Grantaire's apartment, knocking on his door.

Grantaire looks surprised to see him and stands in the doorway, not inviting Enjolras in. "Did you find something wrong with those files I sent you?"

"Nothing's wrong with them," Enjolras replies. "Listen, Grantaire, we need to talk."

"You know, it's funny," Grantaire's expression says that it's anything but. "Last time you said that, you broke up with me."

"I know," Enjolras says quietly. "I'm sorry. I'm trying to fix that."

"Look, Enjolras, just because we had sex—"

"That's not why I'm here," Enjolras tells him, shaking his head. "It's not the sex, Grantaire, that's not why I want you back. It's the fact that I've missed you for the past four months, I've been trying to tell myself that I made the right decision, that it was unfair to give you my divided attention because I would be thinking about our cause and what we're trying to do, and it isn't _working_. Just let me try again. I'm going to stop trying to do _everything_ for the group. Split all the tasks up a little bit, so I have more time."

Grantaire frowns. "What if it doesn't work? What if you're just as busy as you always are, and we're right back where we started?"

"I'll make it work," Enjolras replies. "I'll find a way. I want this, Grantaire, I want _you_ , and if you want this too, I will do everything I can to make it work."

Grantaire is silent for one, long, torturous moment. Then he sighs, opening the door further. "You know I do. This is all I want."

Enjolras has no hope of holding his smile back and he steps forward, into Grantaire's arms.

"This doesn't mean I'm going to your rally, though," Grantaire mutters, kissing Enjolras. All Enjolras can do is smile and kiss back.

«·»

Enjolras is easy to pick out on the makeshift stage, with his bright red jacket and hair shining gold in the sun. There's a decently sized crowd that has turned out today and Grantaire knows that it has very little to do with his posters and more to do with the angel up on the stage, yelling into his microphone about how the university needs to make their campus a safer place for its queer and trans students.

Grantaire is somewhere in the middle of the crowd, more of a spectator than an active participant, and Enjolras has yet to notice him in the press of people. Except then, as Enjolras is about to start talking about examples of homophobia on campus, his gaze finds Grantaire's and he stares for a moment, blinking in surprise.

His smile is tiny, mostly hidden by the microphone in front of his mouth, and Grantaire only sees it because he's looking for it. Grantaire blows a kiss at him from the crowd, and Enjolras' smile grows before he turns his attention back to the matter at hand.

He knows from personal experience that Enjolras is always worked up by the end of their rallies. Grantaire is already looking forward to it.


End file.
